writing, not drowning

London Belongs to Me (again) - part one

Apologies if you arrived here thinking that you were going to read about Norman Collins's novel*. Its just that one of my favourite book titles just happens to suit this post. Because, for the past few years, whenever I returned to my home city, I felt that it didn't belong to me any longer. Although I never regretted deciding to move and live until recently in an area as beautiful as Exmoor, I was sad to feel a growing sense of disconnection with the city in which I was born and where I spent my first half century.

Not any longer. I went back yesterday and had one of those days that simply gladdens the heart and gave me enough sense of connectedness to keep me going until . . . . well, until the next time.

I arrived with a slightly daunting mental list of 'things I want to do, see, experience today' but accomplished everything on the list - and then some. Far too much for one post but the highlight of the day was meeting someone whose blog I have enjoyed reading and looking at  - sublime photos - for some time. The very first post that I read over at Rus in Urbis was about buddleia growing in cracks in walls and in odd, unexpected places in the city. It struck a chord and C's writing and photos continue to do so. (Apologies for not being able to take you directly to that post but, if you haven't visited Rus in Urbis, why not click on the link and just start reading anyway?)

We met, lunched, talked and laughed here:

the glass-walled Serpentine Bar (formerly the Dell) in Hyde Park. Designed by modernist architect, Patrick Gwynne**, and built in 1965, its splendid views of water and wildfowl make it one of the most delightful locations of any of London's thousands of eating places, whether you are seated inside or out or simply lounging on a deckchair on the terrace. We could have stayed all day and it wouldn't have been too long.

*If you were in pursuit of Norman Collins, I am as admiring of the book as I am of the title (ditto the atmospheric black and white 1948 film starring Alastair Sim and Richard Attenborough); one of the best literary evocations of London at a particular time in its history.

** There used to be another Patrick Gwynne restaurant overlooking the Serpentine. I remember the excitement when it opened in 1964 and visited often over the next 25 years . . . until it was demolished. At least  The Homewood, the house that Patrick Gwynne designed for his parents when he was just 24, has been saved. It now belongs to the National Trust.

Floreat Etona

One very good reason for moving to the Chilterns is that I now live within easy reach of my sister and Windsor is very handily situated at the mid-point between us. A good place to meet for lunch, which is what we did today. (Tapas, since you're asking.)

Visiting Windsor is always dripping with nostalgia for me; it's where I spent much of my time as a teenager but the town has changed almost beyond recognition. Yes, there were tourists then but it was all pretty low key. In the 1960s, you could still wander round the castle precincts free of charge. And I spent hours, days there, sketching, taking photographs and just generally people watching. These days the town is heaving; there are pavement cafés on every cobbled street and the small Victorian station where I used to catch the train home has now been converted into an pedestrian precinct full of (even more) cafés and and shops. The pub that was home to a folk club, a jazz club and a rhythm and blues club has long gone; it's now an M&S.

However, the house that Sir Christopher Wren designed and built for himself looks more or less as it always has done:

 

Just across the bridge that spans the Thames is Eton and although that too has changed - well, nowhere stands still - the change is less obvious, although long-term residents would probably tell a different story.

Eton College is at the top of the High Street but term hasn't started yet, so no tail-coated schoolboys in sight.

Eton still has one remaining secondhand bookshop:

Meanwhile, this building, which dates from 1420, has been through some changes:

 

Originally the Cockpit Inn - once the scene of exactly the grisly business you can assume from the name - by the mid-twentieth century, it had become a much more genteel restaurant and tea room. Now it's an Indian restaurant.

Across the road is the Christopher Bar, formerly the Christopher Hotel, which has been open since 1511 and still boasts a side entrance wide enough to admit horse-drawn carriages. It has rather splendid Victorian tilework:

Eton College has been educating the country's finest (a matter of opinion, of course) for six centuries, has produced 18 British prime ministers and any number of Cabinet ministers and will no doubt produce many more (plus ça change, there being no sign of a revolution on the horizon) as well as educating some of the younger royals. As you would expect from such a well-connected town, even the pillarbox is a cut above the average:

This has always been one of my favourite Eton shopfronts:

C J Reid, pharmacist (by appointment to Windsor's most famous resident) and - er - wine merchant. Yes, go through the main door into the chemist's shop and once you're inside, another door leads to the wine department. It would never win any prizes for window display but sporting, as it does, one of the largest and most splendid royal warrant signs imaginable, it probably doesn't need to worry about having über-chic windows. That sign is almost half the size of the door beneath it. (There's an excellent close-up here. Impressive, eh?)

And pausing here, I must crave your indulgence: 

The rather unprepossessing shopfront belongs to Hills & Saunders, who have been taking official photographs of Eton College pupils since the 1860s. Once upon a time, they also took my wedding photos.

Eton's motto, Floreat Etona ("may Eton flourish" and I've no doubt that it will, without any help from me), gilded and painted, can be seen high on a building, further along the street:

Walking back across the bridge, I noticed something new (well, new to me) on the WIndsor skyline. Although I love the London Eye, which also flanks the Thames, I'm really not sure about this. But visitors love it, apparently.

De La Warr - I'm so in awe . . .

The De La Warr Pavilion in the 1930s

The first time I came across the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill, was in 1967 at the RIBA Library when I was working on some picture research. It was heartbreaking to see how, in the three decades since it had opened, this once beautiful Modernist building had fallen from grace. It languished, empty and unloved, in a prime location on the Sussex coast. It wasn't alone. The same fate had befallen many similar buildings of the period.

Thanks, however, to the continuing efforts of the De La Warr Pavilion Trust (launched 20 years ago), the pavilion has been superbly restored. It reopened in 2005 and is now atttracting vistors from around the world. Interesting to compare costs: to design and build the pavilion in 1935, £80,000; to restore 70 years later, £8 million . . . a lesson, surely, in why it makes economic sense to look after well-designed buildings. It takes a long time and huge efforts to raise that sort of money. And, after all, who wants to look at an eyesore?

The original building had been commissioned by Bexhill's first socialist mayor, the visionary ninth Earl De La Warr, and was designed by Erich Mendelsohn and Serge Chermayeff. Even the chairs had an impeccable pedigree; they were designed by Alvar Aalto. (History of the building here.)

So, having waited half a lifetime to see the De La Warr Pavilion, did it live up to expectations? Absolutely. The interior details are as superb as the exterior:

And to see it on a glorious summer day was a bonus. The pavilion houses an exhibition space, which is highlighting the work of Joseph Beuys at present. I'm afraid we didn't spend long with Beuys but headed for the cafe instead, opting for tea and cake - and sea views - out on the first floor balcony. You can see why.

If you are visiting the South Coast, do not miss this marvellous building. Whether you are standing outside looking in or inside looking out, it's a building guaranteed to uplift your spirits and, just possibly, will make your heart skip a beat or two. It's that good.

 

(More on how the arts and architecture are regenerating our coastal towns in Rachel Cooke's feature for the Observer last Sunday.